“Would you like to sing ‘Mary’s Boy Child’ at our Christmas Carol Service?”

It was Christmas 1995 and Mo had been asked to sing.  I don’t know how they found out that she could sing, but they asked her anyway.  Mo agreed and the musicians came to our home for a rehearsal.  At some point, when Mo was feeling more relaxed, she started to mess about and sing it in her own, unmistakeably way.  The keyboard player joined in and as soon as they had finished, it was decided that they should do it just like that at the service.

You should know that our church was very middle class, and they were used to a very traditional Christmas service.  You know, harps and oboes and gentle singing of carols. This was not in keeping with what they were used to.  The pastor was told that it would be rather different, and he was keen to have a break from the norm.

The day arrived, the church was packed and Mo was really nervous.  She had never sung with a band before, and certainly never at a church!   We had two MAJOR stumbling blocks.  When the pastor was introducing Mo he, very stupidly, made a lengthy speech about how different her singing was going to be and…… well you’ll here some of it on the recording.  That was enough to freeze Mo to the spot.

There was a lead guitarist that hadn’t been at the rehearsal.  Mo, in her nervousness hadn’t even noticed, I hadn’t either - until the music started!  There was a totally unexpected guitar riff.  He was a rock guitarist and played with a gritty fuzz box sound.  It totally threw Mo and she…..well you’ll hear it.  You can just hear the offending guitar if you listen carefully.  It came through a separate amp and wasn’t recorded through the system, just picked up through the microphone, which was about fifteen foot away!  Don’t get me wrong, he is a brilliant guitarist, but he hadn’t rehearsed with Mo.  Not good when you have a nervous singer, who has never sung with a band before

Be sure to listen to the words she sings, and listen through to the end.   Despite all the mistakes, it went down well, and has given us plenty of laughs since.  Click the little triangle to listen.

Mary’s Boy Child - of sorts!

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A little bit of background information, just to set the scene.

Back in the early to mid sixties, and before the mini-skirt hit the scene, some of the fashions were ridiculous. The skirts were just on the knee and so tight that you couldn’t walk properly.  In order to climb even the smallest step, you had to stand side-on and swing your leg up behind you and walk up sideways.  After climbing a flight of stairs, your skirt had usually made it’s way up your thighs and had to be yanked back down.  It wouldn’t drop down on it’s own because it was far too tight!

Shoes (*Winkle pickers) with pointed toes, so long that they curled up after wearing them a few times.

Hair that was back-combed and piled up as high as you could get it, using so much hair lacquer, that your hair was rock solid and could be used as a lethal weapon.  Great for pushing your way through the crowds in the rush hour.  One swipe in your face with a **Busby and believe me, you moved!

The ‘French Pleat’ was fashionable and generally, girls that had their hair pleated and piled up by their hairdresser, went back the following week to have it tidied up.  Not restyled, just tidied up!  They then went back the following week to have it washed and put up again.  There were many who went a month without even having a comb through!  I heard all sorts of stories about insects making their homes in them.  One girl didn’t know until blood trickled down her forehead.  That’s what the newspaper article said anyway.

I had one such friend called Carol. She wore her skirt so tight that she couldn’t walk.  What she did was, sort of shuffle, and hope she moved in the right direction. She wore winkle pickers with a 3 inch heel, and had a white blond French pleat, with a good ten inch busby on top!

One sunny morning I was standing at the bus stop across the road from Charing Cross station.  This was the Strand, in the centre of London, in the rush hour, so it was very busy.  The road, being very wide, had a central island so you could wait until the traffic cleared.

I need you to picture this.  Rush hour.  A crowd of people standing on the central island.  Carol standing in the middle of the crowd, couldn’t be missed with her hair towering above the others.  Carol also grasped in front of her one of the latest fashion accessories.  A picnic basket!  Well, it was supposed to be a handbag, but it was very large, round, had a handle over the top and was made with wicker.  The only way you could hold this thing was out at the front of you.   This drawing is almost as good as a photo of carol!

Are you picturing this?  Good. Suddenly the crowd surged forward to rush across the road, carol was swept along, probably by her picnic basket. Carol couldn’t rush! Carol couldn’t WALK! The top half of carol moved with the throng, but the bottom half could only shuffle.

CRRRRUUUUUUUUNNNCH!

The crowd oblivious to Carol’s plight, went on their way leaving her, laying flat out, in the middle of the road, on the somewhat squashed picnic basket, and I had a front row seat, along with all those in the bus queue, who were watching and stifling laughter.  Carol, not looking up, stood up as ladylike as her skirt would allow (not very) turned a ruby red, which showed her white hair off a treat, and tried to squash her picnic basket back into some sort of passable shape.  Too embarrassed to look up, she continued to look at the floor, for which I was thankful.  Once she regained her composer, she shuffled off up the road.  She never saw me there, and I never told her I witnessed it.  I didn’t want her embarrassment to be made any worse.  I don’t know how I kept my composure, once I got in the office and came face to face with Carol and her picnic basket!

It was one of the funniest things I had ever seen.  It resembled a sort of obstacle race, like ‘See how far you can get with your knees tied together’  I laughed for weeks over that.   I’m even giggling while writing this!  Sometimes a near photographic memory can be a great source of laughter!

* Winkle picker shoes got their name because the points were considered sharp and long enough to pick winkles out of their shells.

** A nickname given because of the similarity to hats the Queen’s Guards wear.

EDIT:  I have added an image of a plate of Winkles for your info. You used a pin to remove the little curly inside.  Very tasty with vinegar, but I wouldn’t eat them now!

Don’t forget to give me a smiley at Blogerella

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I was sixteen.  My boyfriend, John, had invited me to a special night out.  His Father was a Freemason and it was their annual ‘Ladies Night’.  This meant a new posh frock, and all the trimmings.

I spent ages putting my make-up on and getting my hair just right.  I slipped into my dress and examined myself in the mirror.  That was as good as I could get it.  I was ready.

John arrived, on time.  Well he only lived two house down so it would have been a poor show if he was ever late! In those days, a boy called for you, even to take you back to his house, and even if it was only two doors down.

Back at his house, his parents were waiting.  I was a little nervous to be going out with his parents.  It was quite a thing and I felt honoured.

We arrived, and by now I was quite nervous to be going to an ‘adult’ night out.  It was a very large hall with large tables lining a dance floor.  We arrived at our table and I nervously sat down.  There were about ten to a table and they were all chatting and laughing.  I sat quietly taking it all in.  I was a very shy sixteen year old, having not long left school.

After a while, I nervously took out my cigarettes.  It gave me something to do and, I thought, would break the ice a bit.  I offered them around to each of the crowd at our table and, one at a time, and staring at me blankly, they all refused.  This was NOT HELPING!  Why wouldn’t they at least include me by taking one of my cigarettes?  They all smoked!  Feeling a bit dejected, I lit mine and continued in my awkward silence.

It wasn’t long before realization dawned.  None of those people were friends of John’s parents.  They were all total strangers!  I had offered my cigarettes around, one at a time, to a bunch of strangers.  they must have thought I was a bit of a weirdo!  I nearly died with embarrassment! I was stuck facing them, and my embarrassment all evening!

That was my introduction to the adult world, and my most embarrassing moment ever!  Of course now I would just laugh it off and get chatting to them all, but now is now and then was then.

So, come on, what’s your most embarrassing moment?

I have just joined Blogerella so please vote for me by clicking the logo in my sidebar. I need to get off the bottom ;O)

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Thank you all for playing along with this contest.  Many of you thought it may be a cardigan/sweater clip. I must say that it would need to be a very large cardigan for it to be of any use.  No it was to be worn around the neck.  We had two correct answers, but the first person to guess correctly was Vic’s Momma of Victor The vampire Kitty.  Congratulations Vic’s Momma!  I will be posting a little something to you, as you have no need of the EC’s and….and I can’t believe this bit….you don’t want one of my graphics!  I find myself mortified, yet again!

Here is Mo wearing her Christmas serviette :O)

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It’s Mo’s birthday today and she got a few nice gifts, including these lovely flowers.

I know it’s usually Kathy’s ‘What’s That’ guessing posts, or even Jenn Thorson’s ‘Whatsit‘ post but I couldn’t pass this one up.  This is a gift Mo received today, from our sister, granny grimble.  I couldn’t fathom out what it was, and I’m not sure I ever would have if I hadn’t been told.  What do you think this is used for?  You can enlarge the photo if you want to.

I could give a prize of 500 Entrecard credits but I thought maybe, for a laugh, I could give a prize of a photo manipulation (like the one here) for your sidebar, or maybe both.  I will see how difficult it proves to be, and then decide whether the person who guesses correctly deserves, or even wants both!

Get your thinking caps on - What IS this?

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Now you don’t need to be a genius to know who’s head this is.  It’s pretty obvious it’s beetle.  You would recognize it anywhere wouldn’t you?  You’d say “Hey! There goes beetle” or “Wow!  What great hair Beetle has” Or some such similar thing.

Now let’s take things a little further.  I will pose you a question regarding the next head.  “Who’s head is this?”  Would you recognize this head anywhere?  Do you think you may know who it is?  I know it’s a bit difficult, but if you think really hard, I’m sure you can guess.

I’ve no doubt that you’ve all read the relevant post of the owner of this hilariously, humongous head of hair, but if you haven’t here’s the link - Link to the HUMONGOUS hair post.

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I got some more awards.

This lovely award is from Shinade @ The Painted Veil and is one that she designed herself.  Thank you very much Shinade for my ‘You are Simply The Best’ award.

Last week I was given the ‘Superior Scribbler Award’ by Lady Banana.  Thank you M’Lady, it’s much appreciated.

I also got the ‘Power Blogger Award’ from Ana @ Chica & Pumuckl Thank you Ana!

Last, but certainly not least, I got these lovely awards from Ivanhoe @ From Ohio with Love.   Thank you so much Ivanhoe - The ‘Kreativ Blogger Award’, the ‘Lemonade’ award and the ‘I Love Your Blog’ award.

This time I’m going to pass on to my top SIX commentators, as there are six awards ;O)  You are all  very deserving of an award.  Take whichever you prefer.

That is:   Comedy Plus • The Depp Effect • The Painted Veil • From Ohio With Love • I Do Things • I’d Rather be Blogging

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Part 3 (final)

It wasn’t very long before our marriage finally ended.  There appeared to be no reason for this.  We didn’t argue,  and had no problems.  Money was plentiful.    There was nothing obvious to cause it to happen.  It just slowly ended.  Jim moved out and I was left with the other two, who very quickly started to treat me like I was the lodger. Life could have been better.

One night I was home alone and I heard a bang, and then movement in the hallway.  Thinking that the others had come home I waited for them.  There were more bangs and noises, but they hadn’t come home.  Their car wasn’t outside!  Now I was scared.  Should I sit and wait for the intruder to find me or should I go out and meet him head on, and suffer any consequences?  I couldn’t bear the thought of waiting for the unknown, so I went out to meet whoever it was.  I switched the light on and peered over the Bannister rail - Nobody was there!  The hallway was silent.  Part of me was glad, but the other part was now a little scared at what could have made these noises.   I went back into the lounge and got on with what ever I was doing before I was interrupted.  Eventually they came home, and it was forgotten.

Things got progressively worse in our household.  My friend’s personality seemed to be changing.  She was no longer the warm and caring person I had known for so long.  She became bitter and spiteful.  Always arguing and snapping at everything I said or did.    Eventually it came to a head when, out of the blue one evening, she said “Get out of this house, and don’t come back!”   ‘He’ tried to calm her down.  He looked embarrassed as it was obvious who’s home this was.  She was behaving like a demented person.  I couldn’t believe it.  I left and made my way to the nearby phone box.  There was no telephone in the house, and mobiles were yet to be invented.

I couldn’t stay in the house with them any more.  What had happened?  How could such good and long term friends turn so nasty and spiteful for no reason?  I couldn’t understand it.  I telephoned my brother, who promptly came to my rescue.  He took me to his home and we cancelled the agreement on the flat.  As it was officially an ‘empty’ house, no notice was needed, it was as easy as that.  We then went back to the house to get my clothes and personal belongings.

I went into the room where they were sitting on my sofa, watching my television and probably drinking my coffee in my mugs.  I took a certain amount of pleasure in saying  “You told me to get out, so that is exactly what I have done.  I no longer rent this flat therefore you have until the end of the week to move out.”  The look on their faces showed that they hadn’t expected that!  I packed my belongings up and left.

When my brother and I went back to get my furniture, the house was pretty much like it had been when we moved in.  Only this time they were my friends clothes and rubbish all over the flat, where they had left in a hurry.  Nothing was cleaned up.  It had an uncanny similarity to how it looked when Jim and I first saw the house.

You can make your own minds up as to whether or not that house had an unpleasant entity occupying it.  I just gave you some of the facts, as they happened.  At the time I thought nothing of it.  It was only when I started to write this post that I felt the oppressive weight and saw, what I believe now, was a major influence causing havoc in our lives, and probably others before us.

Jim and I had moved into that house a newly married, happy couple with a lovely home.  In no more than a year our marriage was over, a good long term friendship was over and I was homeless.

I moved in with my brother and his family until I could find a new flat.  This time it had to be a furnished flat.  I had to sell my home quickly to a second hand dealer!  I seem to recall I got £10 for my furniture, I gave the smaller items away and, yes, I left some of the larger items behind in the house, as did the previous occupants!

We still, all worked at the same company.  I didn’t see her again, but did bump into him now and again.  He always gave me a sort of ‘knowing’, slightly embarrassed smile.  The company eventually relocated and those staff who didn’t move with the company were scattered about London in various new jobs.   I heard, some time later, that their marriage had failed, he was an alcoholic and he had lost his job.  She had disappeared. Very sad.

Jim and I remained friends throughout and kept in contact with each other, through phone calls, for a number of years.  Sadly, due to Jim moving flats and me moving to Kent at the same time, we eventually lost touch.

Life moves on, and I moved on. I had many rough roads to travel before I found real happiness, but I did find it!  That’s another story.

Now?  I’m a very happy bunny!

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If you haven’t already, you might want to read part 1 before reading this.

Part 2

Somehow we managed to clean the flat up and make is habitable.  Once we got our furniture in, it looked OK, though not as nice as our first flat.  We had made all our furniture to fit our previous flat and these rooms were much larger.  Still it didn’t look bad.  It was modern funky sixties furnishings and it brightened the place up - at least for a while.

Friends of ours were looking for somewhere to live, and as we had a spare bedroom, Jim suggested they move in with us.  A few months after Jim and I had moved in, there were four of us.  I would later realise the mistake in this, but it was fun for a while.

It wasn’t long before we decided to investigate the bottom half of the house.  All four of us descended the stairs with a certain amount of childish excitement.

It was vary dark and dismal downstairs, and for some reason, and to our disappointment,  the doors to the rooms were all locked.  We did find one door that wasn’t locked so we all crowded round with anticipation.  It opened at the top of a flight of stairs going down into a dark, very large cellar.  We switched on the light and were totally amazed.  It was a massive games room.  Right in the centre was the weirdest, full sized Billiard (Pool) table.  It had been built from trees.  Four large tree trunks had been cut to size and laid on their side with the large twisting branches trimmed neatly to the same height.  Perched on top of what looked like a lot of arms, was the flat table top.  It looked quite grand, but a very creepy.   The cues and balls still lay on the smooth, green table.   There were boxes, stacked all around the walls.  While rummaging through one of them we pulled out a large bag, full of something soft.  On closer inspection, we discovered it was a bag of human hair!

As if this wasn’t unnerving enough, somebody said “Oh my word! Look at that!”  I was already feeling a little nervous by the hair, but I looked.  There was a dart-board on the wall.  The kind with doors that you open to keep scores on.  The darts were still in the dart-board, the doors were open and scrawled, in white chalk, on the left was the word ‘Me’ with the scores underneath, on the right was written ‘Them’ with the scores underneath!  A chill went down my spine, and I expect the others too.  I don’t know what was said but we promptly left the cellar, never to go back down there again!   I have no idea who won.  We didn’t stop to check!   There could have been all sorts of treasure to be found in an old cellar full of boxes, but we were not ever going down there to search for it!  There was a bad feeling on that whole lower floor.

We had to go down to the ground floor in order to get out to the beautiful garden, but I always made a sort of nervous dash to get outside, and the same nervous dash to get back upstairs.  Never lingering.  The garden was very large but terribly overgrown.  The grass was waist high and laid down flat.  Jim and I had cut it all back and mowed the grass, when we lived there alone.  When it was done it was unbelievable.  There was all sorts of plants hidden from view, including massive strawberries.  An old, hand made, child’s swing hung from a large tree. There was, what once had been, a large and beautiful Victorian style veranda.  Now old, rickety and peeling.  If you looked at it for any length of time, you could see, with your minds eye, a Victorian family sitting on it, drinking tea, children laughing and playing.  Then reality hit and all you saw was a broken down old thing with no life on it at all.  It was quite sad.  Who lived there?  What happened in that house?  If I ever caught a glimpse of the downstairs windows at the back of the house, I would look away quickly.  I never peered inside.  The windows looked like two large black eyes, watching me.  They unnerved me - a lot!

One night, on arriving home late, Jim and I were climbing the stairs in the dark when my foot hit something and I almost fell.  Jim quickly put the light on and there were three or four baby rats on the stairs.  Apparently the brown long fur denotes that they are baby rats.  I can’t believe it but we just stepped over them and continued on up the stairs!  We had no doubt that the cellar, and probably the bottom half of the house was running alive in them.

The mood of our home slowly changed.  It didn’t seem as happy and carefree.  Jim often took himself to bed early.  Something was changing, yet we didn’t seem to be aware of it.  Our friends were beginning to take our home over, as if it were theirs.  Jim didn’t seem to notice.  I just put up with them breaking and damaging everything they touched.  My home had lost it’s original meaning to me now.

What was the history of this house?

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Jim and I had managed to find a nice little unfurnished flat, in a very nice part of London.   We had by far, the best and most expensive flat in the large house.  We were both on good salaries so the cost was not a problem.   One problem we had was that we were continually being harassed by the landlord, to swap flats with a couple that lived right at the top of the house.   Their flat was much smaller and we were happy where we were, so we told him so, each time he asked.  Because of this, it was not a friendly house.  Still, we were out most evenings so that was no real problem to us.  The other, problem was that we had to share our bathroom and toilet with some other tenants.  This was NOT good!

After about a year of sharing a bathroom, and the harassment from the landlord, we had had enough.  With the help of my brother, we found another flat and moved out of our first home.   As this story unfolds you will see how, such a small decision, can change the rest of our lives quiet drastically.

The story begins…..

We arrived at what would be our second home.  It was a very large, rambling house in North London.  The front garden was overgrown and un-cared for.  It was obvious that nobody lived in this house!   We went up the steps and turned the key in the lock.  The door opened into a dim hallway with a flight of stairs on the left, leading to the first floor.

A business acquaintance of my brother owned the house.  He was a property developer and was happy to leave this house empty.  As a favour to my brother, he had let us rent it, as long as we didn’t pester him for things, and took it ‘as is’.  “The first floor flat”, we were told.  I have no idea why that was stipulated, as the whole house was empty, but we accepted the offer.

We made our way up the stairs to the first floor.  At the top was a very large landing area where a huge chest of drawers stood.  We opened the first door on the left.   It was a large kitchen.  In the centre of the room was a table and chairs.  We glanced around the kitchen, it was as if whoever lived here had just popped out for a few minutes and would be back.  They had left everything, including the washing up.  There were cups and plates still on the table, spilled sugar where they had made their tea.  Food scraps, packets, jars and tins of food.  Everywhere you looked there were signs of the people who lived there, but when?  Why did whoever they were, leave in such a strange hurry?  It looked as if they had been sitting down eating their breakfast or tea, and suddenly got up and left the house.

In each room we entered it was the same.  Clothing, belongings and furniture filled the rooms.   It was all very old.  The furnishings looked almost Victorian.  The kitchen was the most up to date and I would say it looked like early 1950’s furniture.

We went back to the large chest of drawers.  We opened the drawers one by one, and was surprised to find they were all full of belongings.   I opened one of the drawers and laying right on top was a beautiful pair of white, leather gloves.  As I picked one up to look closer I noticed the other glove was only half made and still had the needle and thread attached.  They were beautifully stitched.  Not something you would have seen worn since the 1930/40’s.  Who would have been making these and not have finished them?  Why would they be left behind?  Again it looked like somebody had just laid them in the drawer to finish later.  Why didn’t she?  So many questions.

There was a beautiful. large back garden to be seen through the back window, but for now we had looked at what we came to see.  The rest of this huge house we would investigate another time.  After we had moved in.

What other strange things awaited us?   What was in the downstairs part of the house, that appeared to be ‘out of bounds’?

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